


Time Will Pulse On (Or At Least I've Been Told So)

by ConsiderableColors



Category: Dead Poets Society (1989)
Genre: 1930s, 1950s, Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, During Canon, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Pre-Canon, Rare Pairings, Really you can interpret this as platonic, Swearing, Theres only one or two explicitly romantic scenes, Time Skips, please read this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-28
Updated: 2019-05-28
Packaged: 2020-03-20 13:32:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18993616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConsiderableColors/pseuds/ConsiderableColors
Summary: John smiles warmly at him, and George can't help but think 'oh, that's just not fair'.Or, the story of the original Dead Poets Society, including how Keating became a poet.Title taken from Two Strangers by Kerrigan and Lowdermilk.





	1. Letting Go Of A Dream (1930s)

**Author's Note:**

> Shipping a rarepair in a small fandom is a death sentence but what can you do?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys meet at Welton.

"It's such a shame he transferred, I know you were good friends. Still, hopefully Balincrest is treating him well. Do you need me to take something?"

George McAllister shakes his head. "I'm good, Mom." 

"I don't know why you insist on packing so much. It's less than a year."

"It's good to be prepared." George stops, setting the trunk down. "You really don't have to walk me."

"I want to meet your new roommate," his mother protests.

"I may not even have one. Tom said a lot of guys left over the summer. I'll likely be by myself."

"I'd hope not. Someone needs to remind you to call!"

"Mom, it's really not-" George pauses a few feet from the room.

"Oh, it's open! You must have a roommate after all."

He sighs. "Guess so."

His mother gives him a slight push. "Introduce yourself, then."

George grabs the trunk and walks in. Another boy is standing on the desk, hanging up posters. 

"You could just get a ladder?"

The boy turns around, and oh. He looks... Nice. "Hey, you're McAllister, right?"

"That's me."

The boy jumps off the desk and sticks out a hand. "John Keating. You don't mind the posters, do you? I can't stand a dull room."

"Uh." George glances up, taking in at least 10 posters of musicians. "Sure?" 

"I've got one signed by Bing Crosby if you'll believe it. My dad got it for me, best day of my life. Still won't tell me how, mind you. He's got to be in my top five. Billie Holiday's my favorite though. What's your favorite of hers?"

"I don't think I've heard any of her music, actually."

John's eyes go comically wide. "You're kidding! Don't worry, I packed some of my records. I can put one on now."

"Oh, that's okay." 

"Nope, you're listening. I'll play Strange Fruit. That's a song everyone needs to hear. It's like, no one wants to listen because the message is so dark, but it's important. I think everyone should play it until they stop hearing and start listening, you know? Because problems won't just disappear if we ignore what makes us uncomfortable. There needs to be a change, and it'll start with the arts, mark my words. You know?"

George blinks. "... Yes?" 

"I'm rambling. I'll just put it on. Then you'll see what I mean. Then we can listen to What A Little Moonlight Can Do."  John smiles warmly at him, and George can't help but think 'oh, that's just not fair'.

~~~

John chuckles. "It is NOT about immortality. That's pretentious even for poetry." 

"Not literal immortality! Like, life after death. Living beyond."

"So Heaven?"

"Maybe. But it's not so much about the poet."

"Oh?"

George takes the seat next to John, waiting for the bell to ring. "It's about living on in the hearts of the people you left behind. 'When you awaken in the morning's hush, I am the swift uplifting rush.' Then, 'Do not stand at my grave and cry. I am not there. I did not die.' It's supposed to be comforting."

John nods thoughtfully. "I see that. But I wonder if that's just what everyone makes it out to be. What if there's a deeper meaning?" 

"Like what?"

"Not sure. You're the literary genius, aren't you?" 

George flushes. "I'm not a genius."

"Sure you are. You're the brains of us, and I'm the dashing beauty." He grins and George laughs.

"You know what poem I'd really like you to decipher for me?" John says. "It's... Allen Ginsberg I believe."

"You read Allen Ginsberg?"

"Just the one, just the one." He clears his throat, putting on an excellent impression of their literature teacher. "Please master, can I touch your cheek? Please master, can I kneel at your feet? Please master, can I loosen your blue pants-"

George goes beet red. "John!"

John smirks. "Oh, shall I skip ahead? Please master, can I touch my tongue to your rosy assh-"

George slaps a hand over his mouth. "You can't recall a word of Latin but you memorize this?!"

"What can I say? The mind works best in terms of..." He lowers his voice. "Passion." 

He groans. "When I said you should try reading more, this isn't what I pictured."

~~~

"It's not that I've got a problem with writing or anything, but it cramps my style a bit. I'm the badass rebel."

George rolls his eyes. "Ah yes, nothing more badass than collecting seashells."

John tosses one towards his friend's shoulder. "You're just jealous your mom likes me more than you."

"Please, she likes everyone. Though it is impressive. I didn't know anyone but me could stand being with you for a week straight." 

"Oh, shove it. The point is, I really don't think the club's for me." 

"Please? It's right up your alley! Nothing talks more about revolution than poetry!"

"All poetry talks about is horny old dudes watching a girl without a corset."

George huffs and squats down, opening his bag. 

"What are you- ah!" John covers his eyes as sand goes flying everywhere. "What was that for?"

George points behind John. He turns, picking up a faded book. "What's this?" 

"Byron. Read it by the time break's over, then tell me you still hate poetry."

"Fine, fine. Did you have to kick it at me?"

"Nah. Just like seeing you flinch." 

~~~

"Holy shit."

"I know."

"No, but really. Holy shit."

"I'm aware."

"Like, wow."

"You like poetry, don't you, John?"

"You tell anyone and you're dead."

"Mhm."

~~~

"George! What'd he say?"

George sighs. "He said no, Rob." 

"You're kidding. Why?"

"There's nowhere for us to meet, apparently."

John scoffs. "That's it? I say we hold meetings in his room."

"You've gotten paddled three times this month, John. Don't make it four."

Will bites his lip. "So, that's it? No Poets Society?"

"I guess so," George shrugs.

"Well, I think it's bullshit." 

Rob snorts. "Surprise, surprise, Keating. You didn't even like the idea."

"No, but you guys do! The one group in this school that actually gives a shit about learning, and they're shutting you down over a lack of space? No. I'm going to find us a spot."

"Don't bother."

"I'm doing it, Rob. No stopping it. What about sucking the whatever out of life?"

"Marrow, John. And sucking all the marrow out of life doesn't mean choking on the bone!"

~~~

"We are not meeting in a fucking cave, man."

~~~

It's around 11pm when they sit in the cave, beginning the meeting. George stands, a book in his hand, and clears his throat. "I went into the woods because I wanted to live deliberately. I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life... to put to rout all that was not life; and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not yet lived." 

Everyone nods slowly, taking the quote in. "So... Who wants to start?"

John stands, and everyone exchanges a look. "If I may, Georgie?"

"Go on, then."

"They used to tell me I was building a dream, and so I followed the mob. When there was earth to plow or guns to bear, I was always there right on the job. They used to tell me I was building a dream, with peace and glory ahead. Why should I be standing in line, just waiting for bread? Once I built a railroad, I made it run. Made it race against time. Once I built a railroad, now it's done. Brother, can you spare a dime?"

The group of boys has gone quiet, but John isn't done. "Once I built a tower up to the sun, brick and rivet and lime. Once I built a tower, now it's done. Brother, can you spare a dime? Once in khaki suits, gee we looked swell. Full of that yankee doodly dum. Half a million boots went sloggin' through hell. And I was the kid with the drum. Say, don't you remember, they called me Al? It was Al all the time. Why don't you remember, I'm your pal? Say buddy, can you spare a dime?" 

"Damn," Stanley mutters. John sits, looking expectedly at the group. 

Will raises a hand. "I'll go next?"

~~~

It's just the two of them today, because it's not really an official meeting. They stopped reading poems, and had taken to fooling around in the comforting presence of the cave. George snuck in the record player, while John managed to bring liquor. The Dorsey Brothers crooned out What A Difference A Day Made on the record player as George took another swig. 

"I'm telling you, Tom Perry has a massive stick up his ass!" John exclaims. "Did you see his face when Mr. Higgins said we'd be doing Romeo and Juliet in class? He looked like he would pass out."

"He's not so bad. Just high strung."

"Right. I'm telling you, I'm gonna be seeing that guy in my nightmares. I'll run into him, years in the future, and my life will fall apart." He fake shudders.

George shoves him. "You're ridiculous." 

"You love it."

"I tolerate it."

John scoots forward.  "You lie."

"A tad."

"I thought as much."

George leans in with a teasing grin. "What can I say? You're... irresistible."

"And you are... Infatuating."

"Delectable."

"Hypnotizing."

"Mesmeriz-" 

He's cut off by a pair of lips against his. For a moment, George kisses back, heart leaping. Then, he's pulling away and his heart is going too fast and the moment's broken. "I'm- John, I'm not- I don't-."

God, does John have to look like a kicked puppy? "Oh. Oh. I'm... I'm sorry, I just thought... Shit." And then he's standing up and running away and George wants to call his name, wants to say "it's okay", or even better, "me too, John, me too" but instead he just sits there, thinking that he must be the biggest idiot in the universe. The song in the background is practically mocking him.

~~~

They shake hands, long gown sleeves falling down. 

"Write."

"I will."

They never do.


	2. Waking Up From A Dream (1950s)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flash forward to the events of the movie, through an altered perspective.

John smiles and extends his hand. "Mr. McAllister. A pleasure to meet you."

Well, that settles it. George thought John Keating might be a common name, but that face is easy to recognize. He rolls his eyes and returns the shake. "Mr. Keating."

"I must admit, Mr. McAllister, you remind me of someone I went to school with."

"Really? How intriguing."

"It's true. We roomed together, here, in fact."

"Fascinating. What was he like?"

"Oh, you know. Thick-headed, pompous, a bit of a stiff, but oh well."

George chuckles. "I didn't expect you to end up teaching. Perhaps that roommate rubbed off on you."

"I wouldn't give him all the credit. Henry David Thoreau was rather infectious." 

"Ah, Mr. McAllister. I see you've met our newest instructor."

"I have, Dr. Nolan." George's tone regains its professionalism, but John's is still full of mirth.

"We attended school together, actually."

"Isn't that a coincidence?"

"Something of that sort." John glances towards George, looking wildly entertained. George holds back a flush.

~~~

George slams the door open. "What the hell is going on here?" The students in the classroom freeze, papers floating up the ground all around them.

"I don't hear enough rips!" John walks out.

"... Mr. Keating."

"Mr. McAllister." 

George thinks Oh my God, he's still an idiot, but settles for stumbling out an apology. "I- I didn't know you were here."

"I am."

George looks around the class. Many of the students seem as amused as their teacher. "Ah... So you are. Excuse me." As he walks out, he can vaguely hear the exclamations of "hearts and souls!" 

~~~

"Quite an interesting class you gave today, Mr. Keating." He chooses his words carefully, trying to make it clear there's a certain amount of maturity they need to keep. It was easy to fall into their old rapport, but they aren't boys anymore. They're grown men, teachers. And George knows if Dr. Nolan had walked in, John Keating would be out of a job.

"I'm sorry if I shocked you, Mr. McAllister."

"Oh, there's no need to apologize. It was very... fascinating. Misguided though it was."

"You think so?"

And there they go again, back to the same banter. George voicing an opinion, John responding with a grin and asking for elaboration. George always felt like he was walking into a trap when he defended his statements, and he feels that way now. "You take a big risk by encouraging them to be artists, John." The first name slips out, but he's too preoccupied to notice. "When they realize they're not Rembrandts, Shakespeares, or Mozarts, they'll hate you for it."

"We're not talking artists, George, we're talking free thinkers."

"Free thinkers at seventeen?"

"Funny, I never pegged you as a cynic."

The comment stings a bit. Obviously, this isn't the sort of thing John wants to hear, but still. Surely he hasn't forgotten that George attended those same meetings long ago. He's just... Grown up a bit. Gotten wiser, he'd like to think. "Not a cynic... A realist. 'Show me the heart unfettered by foolish dreams, and I'll show you a happy man.'" 

"But only in their dreams can man truly be free. Twas always thus, and always thus will be." 

George doesn't remember those lines at all. "Tennyson?"

John's eyes spark a bit and he winks- honestly winks. "No. Keating."

George can't help but laugh.

~~~

"You'll be happy to know our old haunt is still occupied."

"What do you mean?"

"A few of my students found an old annual." John grabs a fork. "Do you remember Stanley Wilson sneaking us in?" 

"Oh, God. I'd forgotten."

"Neil Perry seemed particularly interested."

"You don't think they'll try to start it up again do you? I mean, do they even know what it is?"

"Well, they did say they could keep a secret or two."

He groans. "Don't go digging things up, John."

"I wasn't. I just thought a teacher was supposed to answer the questions of young learners." 

"Right. Hopefully Perry's friends will convince him otherwise. Richard Cameron's sure to say something."

"He reminds me of you, you know. Intelligent, but too concerned with authority."

"And you remind me of Dalton."

John raises an eyebrow. "How so?"

"He's a prick. Good God, John, save some mashed potatoes for the rest of us."

~~~

The minute Charles Dalton stands up with that phone, George knows he was 100% correct.

~~~

The two are catching up in John's office when a photo on the desk catches George's eye. "Who's the woman?"

"Hm? Elizabeth? My fiancé."

"Your... Oh. I just- last time we talked, I mean- I thought you were..." He clears his throat. "Erm... Allen Ginsberg?"

John chuckles. "So old fashioned, Mr. McAllister. One can like both, you know."

"...Oh. Does she live near by?"

"Oh no." He gestures to an unopened envelope. 

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. At least I learned to write at some point, eh?"

There's a moment of silence as George's mind spikes with guilt before he speaks again. "So... Are you still listening to Billie Holiday?"

"Of course. Though I have to admit, I've taken interest in Fats Domino as of late. I don't suppose you've heard I'm Walkin'?"

~~~

None of the teachers seem able to believe the rumors of Welton's English class. Hager can hardly hear the name Keating without looking scandalized. George doesn't doubt a word of it.

~~~

It's a tragedy, no two ways about it. The whole school is shaken, George included. He knew Neil Perry about as well as his other students, but there was no doubt the boy was something special. All his teachers knew he'd go on to do something great. 

George can't blame Tom Perry for wanting answers. Any parent would. Still, as soon as he finds out Richard Cameron is being interrogated, he knows John's done for.

~~~

George has taken a page out of John's book by leading a class outside for once. It's nice, he has to admit, the cold breeze as his students go over Latin vocabulary. One student drops his book and the class waits for him to gather it. George turns around, eyes catching the window of John's office. He's staring out, seemingly at nothing, before he catches George's eye.

George waves briefly, and after a beat, John waves back. John smiles warmly at him, and George can't help but think 'oh, that's just not fair'.

**Author's Note:**

> Here's all the poems/songs mentioned if you're curious:
> 
> Strange Fruit- Billie Holiday  
> What A Little Moonlight Can Do- Billie Holiday  
> Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep- Mary Elizabeth Frye  
> Please, Master- Allen Ginsberg (extremely sexual, just a warning)  
> I Went To The Woods- Henry David Thoreau  
> Brother, Can You Spare A Dime?- Bing Crosby  
> What A Difference A Day Made- The Dorsey Brothers  
> I'm Walkin'- Fats Domino
> 
> My tumblr is considerablecolors if you'd like to stop by!


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